1968 and all that…

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COMRADES! REVOLUTIONARIES! Let us celebrate! It is 50 years since the évènements of ’68 in Paris. Long live the spirit of the barricades! Remember what bliss it was to be alive then, what heaven it was to be young?

No, me neither. There was little bliss available in the rather dour, parochial environs of the ancient country town in North Yorkshire as I entered my fourteenth year. The political pronouncements of boss-eyed philosophe Sartre, the cobble-throwing students, the smart-arsed conundrums of the Situationists, these meant nothing to me or my contemporaries and barely even seemed to impinge on the consciousness of our parents who were more concerned by the fact that we had grown our hair long, dressed like scarecrows and listened to terribly loud music. To give them their due, though, they didn’t complain about us trying pass ourselves off as 18 in the local pubs (and sometimes succeeding) so we could get our hands on pints of cold, fizzy beer.

Yes, at The Fortnightly Review and isn’t it about time you went there and read some more?

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Film your Marxist professors.

It’s not as bad as this in the UK but it’s getting that way. Nothing will change until students themselves start to complain.

Brian Higgins and the iniquity of his oblivion.

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“THE INIQUITY OF OBLIVION blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity.” So wrote Sir Thomas Browne, a writer who has not had the full weight of said iniquity fall upon him and managed to remain partly in the light of literary remembrance. Those of us stricken with the vanity that we may be remembered after our death for our poems, novels, plays, paintings, songs or whatever, never find out, of course, though we know the odds are in favour of the poppy.

Such was the case with Brian Higgins (1930 – 1965), poet, mathematician, teacher, rugby player, freelance journalist and dole wallah. Higgins published three (hardback) collections, two of them during his very short life (The Only Need and Notes While Travelling), and one posthumously (The Northern Fiddler). His poems had appeared in reputable magazines and anthologies, including The Faber Book of Twentieth Century Verse, so he was not exactly an obscure scribbler while alive. His portrait was painted by Patrick Swift, one of the leading Irish artists of the day, and he knew many of the more successful writers of the period. This included George Barker, himself a permanently half-remembered poet, who wrote a foreword to The Northern Fiddler.

Read on at The Fortnightly Review.

Police virtue-signalling in Lincolnshire.

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BRITAIN’S POLICE FORCES seem to have agreed amongst themselves that their real purpose is not deterring crime and catching criminals but pulling increasingly embarrassing stunts in public to signal their political virtue . Hence they show us how seriously they take our safety by complaining to supermarkets for labelling female sanitary products as “feminine care”, displaying their painted blue nails (anti-slavery, somehow), dressing up in bear costumes and wearing red high heels — not all at the same time.

 
Continue reading at The Fortnightly Review.

There’s no virtue-signalling in my book.

Are the snowflakes melting into Gen-Zed?

FOR THOSE PEOPLE despairing of the millennial generation and their demands for safe spaces and trigger warnings, and their blue-haired, social justice snowflakery there are glimmers of hope that things are changing for the better. Behold Generation Z (zed to us in Blighty, zee to our friends across the Atlantic).

Generation Z, born between 1995 and 2010 (roughly), are, according to various sources, including Jeff Brauer of Keystone College, socially liberal but more conservative in terms of security and economics than their predecessors. They are also the first generation who are true digital natives, in that they have no experience of a time when there was no internet. The upshot of this is that they are wired (as us oldies still say) and used to getting their information from the net rather than from the mainstream media.

 

Read on at The Fortnightly Review.

The leftist love-in with Islam.

IT CAN’T HAVE escaped the intelligent observer that the left — and what we can call the Establishment in general — is more than indulgent towards Islam. It is truly, madly, deeply, pathologically besotted with it.

Whether it’s Merkel opening her country up to a million immigrants or the other leaders of the West dribbling inanities about Islam being a religion of peace or the police and other authorities ignoring the systematic sexual abuse of thousands of girls by Muslim gangs, etc., to the immediate response of the media to every terrorist atrocity with blatherings about solidarity, unity and a condemnation of the threat from a phantom right-wing, the message is clear: Islam is a marvellous, wonderful, humanity-enriching culture that cannot be held responsible for the actions of those who act in its name, and those of us who aren’t Muslims (affectionately known as kuffars) must prostrate ourselves in admiration and submission to its every wish.

Read more at The Fortnightly Review.

Remember there’s my book.

“For whom the bell tolls…” – a reading of John Donne’s famous words.

My reading of an extract of John Donne’s Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, with its famous words about the bell. On my YouTube channel, English Readings. Please subscribe.